I'm not certain it snowed in Jerusalem on that day 2,000 years ago, but today's remembrance was inundated with it. I was blessed to share the Stations of the Cross and Good Friday Liturgy with a new friend; I sent out a mass email to all my friends in the Chicago area, informing them about and inviting them to all the Holy Week liturgies. These friends don't often see the formally religious or vocational side of me; my time with them is a way out of all that for me, a chance to practice my everyday faith and not focus on genuflection, Gloria Patri's, or when to sing the antiphon. I've always felt strongly called to share my faith, my everyday faith, with my friends in the simple manner that Jesus exemplified when he ate meals, walked, talked, laughed, and cried with his. But, I thought for Holy Week, I would extend the invitation to them so that they might, should they desire, not only get a chance to see just what it is I do and what I am about, but so that they might take in, soak up, and be blessed by these more formal remembrances and celebrations - that they might sanctify this time for themselves in an extra-ordinary way, because there was little ordinary about those three days in Palestine long ago. Many of them already had plans to travel home to be with families, but I did get positive responses from two friends, one who came to today's service, and one who is coming to Sunday's sunrise Vigil service. I feel so blessed to not only have these friends, but also to be able to share this time with them.

The sermon today, found here, was excellent and difficult to hear (even as I imagine it was challenging to preach). I think you would benefit from reading it. When he got to the part where he said, "Behold your truth!" chills ran down my spine (and not just the chills of the frigid chapel) and goosebumps rose along my arms. When we were given control over the Truth, we crucified Him. And yet it is still a daily struggle for most of us, a struggle to give up our control. St. Augustine said that the only freedom we have comes from bending the knee to Jesus. All else is just an illusion of freedom, a crucifying freedom, a freedom that has blood on its hands.

Father, forgive us, for we know not what we do.

-R